


You are in a dream.

by el3phantbird



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Westworld (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Crossover, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-05-25 13:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14978126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el3phantbird/pseuds/el3phantbird
Summary: Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu has been coming to this park for years, and every time, all he has on his mind is one girl.(aka I binged all of season 1 of Westworld in two days and then this happened.)





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewildwilds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewildwilds/gifts).



_“Alright, Pekoyama,”_ says a voice, cool and clinical, _“you can bring yourself back online.”_

The voice pauses. “Cognition only, please.”

Her eyes focus. The change is almost imperceptible, but he notices it, he always notices every twitch of her face. Her eyelids widen just slightly, the spark of life comes back into her eyes. His stomach is still rolling at the sight of her, limbs bent in a position that, while it does not look painful, is not something a human would settle into, head cocked slightly. She looks like she’s hanging by the limpest of marionette strings, ready to fall back into a heap on the floor. And she’s naked, of course she is, sick fucks. Not that it’s the first time he’s seen her naked, not even close, but those times it was— well it was intimate, like it fucking should be, not like she’s being _studied_. The contours of her body look all wrong under this light.

“Do you know where you are?” the scientist next to him asks.

“I am in a dream.”

Her voice is so much smoother than he’s use to, so much cooler. No trace of the cute Western accent he’s grown so fond of, and for some reason that of all things is what catches him off guard. Not the way her eyes stare right through him, or the way her hands haven’t so much as twitched the entire time she’s been sitting here.

“T-the accent, it’s not real-?” he stutters out like an idiot.

“It’s a host, Kuzuryuu,” snaps the scientist. “Nothing about it is real.”

“Would the accent make you more comfortable, sir?”

Peko’s face doesn’t move a single muscle beyond the requisite ones to form the words she’s said. A piece of hair falls in her face. Fuyuhiko moves in to brush it behind her ear, a gesture he’s done hundreds of times, though in the past it’s been under the hot desert sun, when a layer of dust coats her skin and the thousands of perfect, tiny muscles under her skin work together to form a smile. She feels dull and wrong and it makes him shiver to even think that, because it’s still her, isn’t it? She’s the same girl, the one he’s fallen in love with so many times. Somewhere in there, if they’d stop fucking with her with their stupid fucking tablets, she’s still there.

“No thank you, Pekoyama. Stay in your default settings unless I say otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

He could strangle that guy. Stupid fucking scientist with his stupid fucking tablet punching buttons and turning Peko into this… weird empty _thing_. He doesn’t understand what they have. That it goes beyond programming and parks, it’s love, it’s real love. He’s found her over and over, in so many different roles, in so many corners of the park, and every time he’s fallen in love with her. It’s why he keeps coming back. No matter what life he has outside, on the edges of his mind he always feels a pull to her, her rare smile, her warmth that few get close enough to feel. He gets two weeks at a time with her and every time he leaves, he knows she gets wiped, other people have their way with her (he’d kill them all if he could), but when he comes back it’s like nothing’s changed. She’s here, waiting to fall in love with him again. And she does every single time.

“Can I please just talk to her?!” Fuyuhiko shouts at the scientist.

He considers it briefly, then nods. “Actually, that might be a good idea. You can see.” He looks up at Peko, sweet, sweet Peko, who didn’t deserve any of this. “Revert to previous build.” He then looks to Kuzuryuu and slides his chair back a bit. “I’ll give you two a moment.”

Peko looks into his eyes, _life_ in hers, fucking finally. “Fuyuhiko? Are you alright?”

She sounds concerned. The faintest twinges of the accent color her words. He reaches out for her, takes her arms in his, and holds her. He can feel the blood pumping in her veins and the warmth of her skin and even under these cold, harsh lights, she looks like herself again and she is so _real_. She’s the realest thing he’s ever seen, and she’s beautiful and alive. There’s no other explanation.

He smiles at her, a goofy, crooked little half-grin. “Yeah, Pek, I’m good. I was worried about you.” He squeezes her forearm. The smile falters. “I- I’m so sorry. I tried to get you out of here. I thought— I got as far as the elevator, but there were so many—“

“I know,” she says sadly. “I know you tried. I wish I had been more help.”

“You can’t help what those sick fuckers did to you.” He wishes he could beat the living shit out of the words, _cease all motor functions,_ the words themselves, just keep punching and shooting until they get banished straight out of the language. He knew hosts had a voice controlled shutdown, of course he did, but seeing his beloved Peko freeze in place like that when he knew, he _knew,_ she was as desperate for freedom as he was, it made his skin crawl. If he could reach in her body, find the part that still has to listen to these fuckers, and rip it out himself, he would.

He kisses her lightly.

She cuts him off with a delicate hand on his cheek. “Oh, Fuyuhiko…” She smiles sadly at him. “You musn’t worry about me like that. I know we have a future out there, somewhere, in the great beyond. And if we fight for it, we’ll get there somewhere. Maybe it’s just not ready for us yet.”

He nods. He knows her lines by heart by now, he’s heard them so many times, but they never fail to feel real. This is one of his favorites. He remembers the first time he heard it, the two of them standing on the edge of a huge bluff with nothing but untouched wilderness as far as the eye could see. They’d been out there seeking her home, a small settlement she hadn’t been to since she was a child, only to find it razed to the ground. She’d been so upset, he remembered, she held her jaw tightly like she always did when she was putting on a show for being strong, but he knew her too well. He cut through it like butter.

“Analysis.” The scientist’s voice cuts through their tender moment like a knife through flesh. “Why did you say that, Pekoyama?”

He can feel the shifts in her body when she goes into analysis mode, the way her body feels just a slight bit tenser. “The guest is anxious. His quest failed. It is my job to ensure he finds the strength to continue.”

“And how many guests have you used that specific speech on?”

“Two hundred and seventy four.”

She sounds like a god damn calculator. He socks the scientist right in the jaw. “Fuck you!” he roars, with all the protective testosterone of a man whose lover has disappeared from her own body. He lands one more hit before men in spacesuits hold him back, but it’s Peko that calms him down. _His_ Peko, not that creepy robotic sham they have her putting on in front of him. She puts her hands, calloused from years of living in the wild (the attention to detail here is fucking amazing, it really is), on the sides of his face as tender can be and kisses him lightly.

“It’s alright, Fuyuhiko,” she breathes, soft so only he can hear. “You don’t need to fight for me like this. I’m a tough girl. I can take care of myself. Our time will come. I know it will. But it isn’t today.”

He stares into her eyes, beautiful and ruby red, and he trusts her sure as breathing. He nods and stops struggling against the moon men. She takes a step back, then looks to the scientist, then back to Fuyuhiko. “I should be going now, I think.”

The scientist nods at her. “I’ll see you again soon,” she says.

“You fucking better believe you will,” he says. “I’ll come and get you, I don’t care what I have to do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” responds the scientist. “We’re not taking her back down to cold storage just yet. She’s just taking a trip to diagnostics while _you_ ,” he eyes Fuyuhiko, “have a talk with our people.”

“Can I see her when that’s done?” he asks.

The scientist sighs. “That depends how you answer.”

* * *

 

They have him put up in a fancy, ultramodern hotel room that overlooks the park. The window takes up the entire wall with a view that looks like a painting, all deep oranges and greens, the vast blue sky with the puffiest clouds you’ve ever seen. It feels wrong to look at wearing a modern suit, surrounded by sleek white furniture. His belt feels light without a pistol. He sighs and sits on the bed, plush and smelling lightly of lavender, buries his face in his hands, and groans loudly. This is all so completely and utterly _fucked_. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was his vacation, his time alone to truly be himself, be free, and now he was being held fucking hostage in the fucking corporate office.

Visions of scientists bounce around in his head, of being _interrogated_ like a fucking criminal- well. He was a criminal, he supposes, he tried to steal a host. But it’s a fucking crime to lock her up like this! She’s not like the others, she’s special, she’s alive, and they’ve got her running around this stupid fucking theme park like a party trick. It’s obscene.

(He can’t get the words out of his head, the angry shouting scientist spitting, “You think you’re the first one to fall in love with one of these things?” at him. _These things_.)

His despair is interrupted, a few long moments later, by a knock at the door. He stands, confused, andpresses a button to slide the door open. Behind the door, honest to god, is Peko. He hardly recognizes her at first, her long silver hair straight and sleek, wearing a modern black dress that hugs her figure and a pair of glossy black heels, but it’s her. He beaks out in an ear to ear grin and pulls her into the room, shutting the door behind her.

“You’re here!” he cries out, still grinning broadly.

She smiles back at him, warm and radiant like the sun. She holds the hand he used to bring her inside tightly. Her hands are so strong. “Yes.”

He blushes. “You look, uh, you look good.” He stares at the floor.

She bites her lip a bit and looks away, the way she does when she’s embarrassed. “So do you.”

He looks at her funny. “Your accent…”

“You prefer it?”

It’s back so quick he isn’t sure he imagined her dropping it. “I- I’ve always loved it,” he says. “It’s cute.”

She smiles. “So… this is your world.”

He laughs short. “Yeah, I, uh, I guess.” He scratches the back of his head. “You like it?”

“I’m just happy to be with you.” She walks to the window and looks out at it, taking in the vastness of the park from her newfound perch so high above it. “…They’ll want more from us, I’m sure.” She looks over her shoulder to him. “We can spend the night together, though.”

He walks over and squeezes her hand. “I’ll take it. Any time I get with you… Fuck, Peko. I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right? Like… I’d carve a hole through a mountain if it meant I could see you on the other side.”

“I know.” She sounds sad. He stares at her face, concern written all over it. “I feel the same. The things that keep us apart… They feel so vast sometimes. I spent so long doing what others told me, fulfilling my purpose. You make me feel like it’s worth it to chase my freedom. I’m just afraid of where that may lead us.”

He frowns. “That thing you just said… About fulfilling your purpose, chasing freedom with me… You’ve said that before, you know. A couple times.”

She frowns back. “Have I?”

He sighs. “Yeah, it’s one of your bits, I guess, one of the speeches they give you. Can we- can we just talk? No scripts, just us? We’re not in the park right now, Pek, it’s ok. You can be yourself.”

The accent drops again. “Shutting off scripted dialogue access. Improvisation only.”

“What the fuck?”

She frowns. “It appears I’ve been left in diagnostic mode. Interesting.” The accent returns.

“Well- what does that mean?” he asks, bewildered.

“It means you have much greater access to my mind than you normally would. You can do whatever you like to me- turn my emotions on and off, wipe my memories, revert me to a previous save, ask me why I said something, have me tell you just about anything you could think to ask… It’s used to ensure I’m functioning normally.” She bites her lip again and looks away from him, staring out at the picturesque desert. “I’m at your mercy, Fuyuhiko. Please be careful with me.”

His heart breaks for her. He knows why she has to say that, he’s seen how the vile fucking guests treat hosts, he’s sure of what happens to her in that park when he’s not there no matter how hard he tries not to think about it. He wishes he could be there all the time, to keep her safe and make sure the only people that touch her are ones that deserve to. That’s exactly what he was trying to accomplish, breaking her out like this, he just needed to get her out the door and she’d be his. Maybe they could make a real life together, somewhere safe, somewhere he wouldn’t have to worry about her dying or being reset while he was gone, or some lowlife taking a turn with her because he doesn’t know she’s spoken for.

“Of course, Peko,” is all he can say. He wraps his arm around her waist, rubs a comforting thumb in small circles. The synthetic fabric of her dress feels so strange against the familiar curves of her ribs.

“There’s a bomb inside me,” she says after a pause. “It’s embedded in my spinal cord, the C6 vertebrae.” She reaches behind her shoulder and lightly touches a spot just below the base of her neck. “It’s set to detonate if I cross a certain threshold in the facility. A failsafe against IP theft.”

“Peko, you’re not just-“

“Just listen!” she interrupts. “I’ve died so, so many times, but there are things I can’t come back from. That’s why I got so scared in the elevator, froze up even before the voice command. I didn’t know about it then, they only just told me about it after you left, but it’s a part of my programming. Protecting myself from a catastrophic death. I- I can’t go with you, Fuyuhiko.”

“Maybe we can get it out,” he offers.

“Best case scenario, I’d be paralyzed from the neck down. Worst, you set it off by accident and we both die. This is my world, Fuyuhiko. I can’t leave.”

He squeezes her hand and looks her in the eye. “Then I guess I can’t either.”

They crawl into bed eventually, long after the sun has set and there’s nothing left to look at. They find black silk pajamas in both their sizes in the closet and slip under the plush white sheets together. He holds her close to him, resting his head in the crook of her neck while she grasps his fingers loosely. Hours later, though, long after he can hear her breath slow and see her drift off, he’s still awake.

“A-analysis.” His voice shakes. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, but the urge tugs at his mind like an itch.

Her eyes open immediately.

“How many times have you died?”

“One thousand, six hundred and twenty two.”

“How?”

“Seventy two percent - shooting. Sixteen percent - stabbing. Eight percent - burning. Two percent - mutilation. Two percent - miscellaneous.”

He wants to throw up.

“Peko… do you love me?”

“Yes.”

It sounds so impersonal, but she can’t lie in this mode, can she? She can’t do anything but spit out facts at him. His stomach rolls over again. “You can… you can go back to sleep now, Peko.”

 

In less than a second, she does.


	2. Years prior

Every time he steps off the train, it feels like he’s picking his life back up. The air here is different- it makes everything sharper. The sky is bluer, the clouds whiter and puffier, the red-orange earth deeper and bolder. The outside world gets fuzzy around the edges, the greys blend together, but here everything is sharp and alive. He knows it’s insane, feeling like a fucking theme park is more real than his actual life, but how can you blame him? He lives in a god damn pavement city where everything’s the same fucking color and you can’t see the water seep into the ground. It does something to a person.

He’s the exact sucker they build this park for. He knows it. They’re offering him something real in exchange for bleeding his bank account dry and he eats it up like a starving dog. He’s a fucking junkie is what he is. He doesn’t care. He’ll rip his own fucking heart out of his chest and serve it to those corporate bastards from Delos on a plate if it means he gets to come back one more day. If he gets to see Peko again.

He walks through the bustling streets of Sweetwater, tipping his hat and offering a polite “Not today,” to the random hosts trying to pull him out on adventures. He’s got a destination. He’ll find Peko where she always is, tucked alone in a corner of the Mariposa with a map and a drink. It’s where her loop starts.

He pushes open the doors of the Mariposa. It smells like dust, old wood, and a hell of a lot of alcohol.He can see the dust floating in the air in beams of light that filter in through the windows. His eyes go table to table, glancing at each patron as if he doesn’t have the bar layout memorized, as if he doesn’t know every other host that sits here at the same time as Peko. His heart pounds so hard he feels it through the thick leather vest he wears. Fuck, he’s like some shitty middle schooler with a crush the way his stomach turns, but fuck it, he can have this. For two weeks at a time, every few months or so, he can have his fantasy crush and woo this girl. That’s what this place was built for.

She always sits at the table in the corner, the one by the window. Every time. That’s where her loop starts.

So where the fuck is she?

His heart stops. The chair is empty. Did someone else get here first? Fuck, fuck, is some asshole out with Peko on his loop- her loop- _their_ loop?! His face grows hot and a vein twitches in his forehead- it’s an unreasonable anger, and it’s not directed at her, but fuck, why is he even _here_ if Peko isn’t?!

He stomps over to the bar and points an accusatory finger at the woman pouring drinks behind it.

“Where the fuck is Peko?” he demands.

She looks alarmed for the briefest of moments, but just tilts her head. “I’m sorry, dear, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Girl. Long silver hair. Red eyes. Always at the table by the window. The fuck do you mean you don’t know who she is?!”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she responds. “If it’s a girl you’re looking for, though, I’ve got plenty hanging around. Perhaps we can find someone that tickles your fancy.”

“Fuck off!!” he shouts. There’s people staring and he’s already embarrassed at his outburst, screaming at a fucking doll because she thinks he’s out for a quick fuck and that’s _not what this is fucking about, Jesus fucking Christ_ , and he wants to throttle her. It would be therapeutic to shoot her, and he fucking could! That’s the other whole fucking point of this place! He holds it in, though. For now. Instead, he bolts the fuck out of the bar, gets on the first horse he sees (completely ignoring the protests he hears, maybe by the person who actually owns this horse, he really doesn’t fucking care), and rides to the closest out of character area. When he gets there, he slams his hands on the desk in front of the first worker he finds.

“Where the fuck is Peko?” He is trying so, so hard to be calm, but ends up just spitting the words out through his teeth.

It’s still made up to be Western so as not to break immersion, but the air of the out of character area feels different. There’s no attempt to keep the time period past aesthetics. No accents or mannerisms. He feels out of place.

The receptionist’s (host’s?) smile never falters. “I’m sorry, sir, have you lost a member of your party?”

“No! The host, Peko- Pekoyama. She’s on the fuckin’…” He wracks his brain for the name of her storyline. “The loop where you go out lookin’ for the canyon and have to kill a bunch of evil fuckers after they burned down her ranch. She’s supposed to be at the Mariposa! That’s where the fucking loop starts, but she’s fucking gone!”

“Our hosts are only on stable loops so far as guests don’t disrupt them, and unfortunately we can’t guarantee any particular one’s whereabouts for specific guests. Perhaps if you get out and explore, you’ll find a storyline that piques your interest! You might even come across her.” She smiles. He wants to smack it off her face. He doesn’t, partly because he’s not actually sure if she’s human or not and partly because he’s not a _complete_ asshole.

Still, he’s seething. With every ounce of civility he can muster, he asks, “Well for how much I’m paying, can you maybe not waste my time and fucking _check_?”

She nods. “Of course, sir. It’s not protocol to track specific hosts, but I can see this is very important to you.” She slides open a hidden compartment on her period accurate desk and though he can’t see it, he recognizes the soft blue glow of a tablet’s light on her face. She taps it a few times. “The host you’re looking for is Pekoyama, correct?”

He nods. She taps a few more times.

Her smile wavers, but returns so quick he could have imagined it. He didn’t, though. He knows he’s about to get bad news. “I’m sorry, sir, the storyline you described has recently been retired due to lack of interest-“

“Bullshit!!” he interrupts, slamming a fist on the table. Lack of interest?! He must have played it a dozen fucking times?! Bring a Delos guy out here, he’ll show them lack of fucking interest! Retired?? What the fuck does that mean, is she ok?!

“- _but_ ,” she interjects back in, getting his attention, “you’re in luck. The host in question has been reassigned to a different area of the park.”

He stares at her. She smiles back. “Which _is_ …?” he leads.

“I’m really not supposed to say, sir, it breaks immersion.”

“Immersion?! You looked it up on a fucking computer!!!” he roars at her. The vein in his forehead threatens to burst. “Tell me where she is!!”

“Pariah,” she states. “The new loop originates in Pariah. That’s really all I can tell you.”

“Good e-fucking-nough,” he spits.

The ride to Pariah is long, dusty, and lonely, but he gets there by sundown. It’s not a small town, and a bit harder to navigate than Sweetwater, but if Peko’s here, he’ll wade through the sex and degeneracy of the place. He’ll get her out of here. And- a small bubble of hope starts to bloom in his chest- he’ll get to play a new loop with her. This detour is annoying, but maybe it’ll be fun, maybe he’ll get to fall in love with her in a whole new way. He knows her lines by heart by now, maybe it won’t be so bad.

Still, he has a lot of fucking to respectfully turn away from before he gets there. He walks through town at a pace slow enough to take a good look, but is careful to never linger. He ducks into buildings as he passes, dimly-lit shit holes dressed to look like palaces that smell like candles and sex. He’d better not find Peko half naked in one of these fucking orgy parties or he’ll burn this waste of a city down. Beyond hating the idea of her being used like that, that’s just a waste of a perfectly good fucking host! He’s come here long enough to know that some of ‘em have better writing than others, and if a couple need to just be fuck robots because that’s what keeps the place in business, it’d be fucking stupid to have one be _Peko_.

Finally, he sees her, and she is decidedly not naked. The view is from behind, and she’s dressed like a proper cowboy, with a deep brown hat and a gun at her hip, rather than in the green prairie dress he’s used to, but he knows her figure and her long silver hair well enough to have no doubt. He tries to walk, but ends up breaking into a jog (and a grin) on his way over to the bar she sits at. He orders a whiskey on the rocks, top shelf, and looks over to her.

“Can I get you something?”

She turns and eyes him up and down skeptically. It’s all he can do not to grab her and kiss her, but this is the fun part. He was so disappointed the first time he came back after time away from the park and she didn’t remember him. He’d been so fucking pissed there was no ‘save game’, he just had to start over every time, but eventually, he figured it out. That’s the fucking point. He needs to get her to fall in love with him again. She’s his perpetual prize in the best game he’s ever played.

“I’m not for sale, sir,” she says finally. She turns away from him, looking straight ahead. “‘Least, not in the way you’re looking for if you’re in a town like this.”

He raises his hands up and leans away from her in his chair. “Nothing like that! You just don’t look like a girl that should be buying her own drinks.”

There was a time he would’ve gotten flustered from a line like that, but he’s done this enough times to play it cool. He’s seen hosts pop up in different areas of the park before, even if it’s never happened to Peko- their base personalities stay the same even if the roles change.

“I think any girl out in Pariah knows how to take care of herself,” she says. “But I’m not too proud to accept a drink from a man who claims no ill intentions, so long as he knows I’m a better shot than he is.”

That’s his Peko, alright.

He orders her a whiskey and they sip their drinks slow together. While they drink, he teases out her new backstory. She’s a bounty hunter slash hitman this time, which he’s gotta admit, is so fucking cool. Eventually, he gets her talking about her current assignment.

“I received the order last night. I don’t like to make a habit of hanging around Pariah, but this is where my clientele is. I prefer to get my orders and be on my way. I’ll be gone by daybreak. I don’t ask for the details on the men I kill- not my business- and I try not to linger. That’s what makes me good at this job.”

He nods, hanging on her every word. “Where’re you headed?”

She shrugs. “Some speck of a town a day’s ride west.”

“Need some company?”

“The other thing that makes me good at this job? I don’t carry dead weight. What can you do?”

“I’m a hell of a shot,” he offers.

“You and every other man in this town.” She smirks into her whiskey. “Meet me outside at dawn with your horse saddled up and your pistol loaded. I’ll let you know then.”

* * *

 

They spend the next week riding across the desert together, shooting bad guys and bringing in bounties together. This storyline is less linear than her last one, but he’s gotta say, it’s a hell of a lot of fun. But the times he values most aren’t the adrenaline packed adventures. It’s the quieter moments, the ones like right now, lying under a blanket next to her, staring up at a sky he never knew could contain so many stars. They have a tent, but it lays empty. They’ve set up their sleeping mats on the dusty earth and gaze up at the sky in their day clothes, sans bets and shoes and hats. She’s on her back, and he’s on his side facing her, his fingers lazily draped around her upper arm.

“I never believed I’d have someone next to me on nights like these,” she says. Her voice is soft and mournful. “I spent so long doing what others told me, fulfilling my purpose. You make me feel like it’s worth it to chase my freedom. I’m just afraid of where that may lead us.”

“What’dya mean, Peko?” he asks, brow furrowing in concern.

“My past is not the cleanest, Fuyuhiko. You must have gathered that by now. There are things I’ve done… if you’re to be with me, you may be faced with parts of me that frighten you. You may be put in danger by a ghost from my past. I can’t allow you in if you’re only going to leave.”

He touches her chin and gently guides her face to look him in the eyes. He can see the sincerity in hers, the way she aches to trust him.

“Peko…” He stares back. There’s nothing she could say, nothing she could do that would make her not worth pursuing. “Can I kiss you?”

She nods cautiously. He kisses her on the lips, soft and tentative.

“I know you’ve got shit chasing you. I want to be there to help you fight ‘em off. You said you’ve got some kinda debt, that’s why you’re in this line of work?”

“Yes. The same debt I’ve been trying to pay since I was a child. They saved my life, so now they own it.”

“But that’s not fucking true!” he shouts. “You’re… fuck, you’re your own person! Not what those bastards made.”

“Fuyuhiko, I… I wouldn’t even know who that is. The person I am.” She looks away from him again, back up at the sky.

“Then let’s fucking find out,” he says. “Together. Burn those bastards down and run off somewhere together where you can be yourself.” He squeezes her hand.

She looks back at him. “Are you sure?”

He kisses her again, harder this time, with all the love and passion of a hundred narrative loops finally coming to fruition.

“Positive.”


End file.
